


when i'm fucked up (that's the real me)

by hellstrider



Series: By Your Side Verse [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Choking, Force-choking, Hurt No Comfort, Kylo Ren's Redemption Arc Written Well, M/M, No Smut, Pre-Relationship, Secretly Good Hux, Spy!hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: it'salwaysfuckingred.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Series: By Your Side Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729948
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	when i'm fucked up (that's the real me)

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone
> 
> i hope you're all healthy and safe. 
> 
> title from the hills by the weeknd
> 
> xxx
> 
> tumblr: billyhargrovens  
> witcher tumblr: thebardjaskier

It was only a matter of _time_ , he supposes.

All the training in the _world_ couldn’t really have stopped it, not when it came to a Knight of Ren.

Oh, what the _fuck_ is he _saying?_

No mere _Knight of Ren_ could pierce the smoggy, steel-coated veil of his mind; barbaric _fools_ , the lot of them. Now, that wasn’t to say that Kylo Ren wasn’t a barbarian of a man himself, _but_ ,

(Ah, that _pesky_ , persistent _but_ ,)

It was _different_.

_He_ was different.

And Hux _knows_ that, _knows_ that it was really a matter of _time_ ,

When it came to trying to hide the truth from a fucking _Skywalker._

Of course, it happens after Hux has been pushed beyond the boundary of any kind of redemption. Before he could be caught and put to death. One death to save millions.

It happens too late.

Happens after -

The sky burns red - _red, like his mother’s hair, brighter than his own, vivid and vibrant and_ \- 

The sky burns red - _red, like Ren’s saber, the saber that couldn’t fucking function properly, as unstable as its master, because_ -

The sky burns red - _red, like the blood that flows through the veins of his own people, of his mother, who had red hair, red_ -

And because it came too late, the sky burns red, and the Republic falls to rest across the shoulders of the spy that would eventually die beneath the weight. And that’s what it is, he thinks, as the sky goes as red as Ren’s ridiculous saber; this is a _death_ sentence, Hux knows - but that never really _bothered_ him overmuch,

Because this was _war_ , and better people _have_ died, _will_ die, _are_ dying. No amount of information he feeds to the rebels or the Republic or _Leia fucking Organa_ herself can undo what he’s done to work his way into the ranks of the first order. No amount of good deeds could wash away the _red_ from his ledger, not now.

( _Red, it’s all fucking red, isn’t it?_ )

So he signs his own death sentence as the Republic falls to ashes across his shoulders, and he swallows down the bile and the burn as the eyes of the First Order fall like the ash of the republic over his shoulders,

And under the weight of a fucking _black hole_ , Hux adjusts his sleeves and folds his hands behind his back as he watches the First Order troopers with a perfect, unbreakably _impassive_ stare, all while he’s _keenly_ aware of phasma’s presence behind him.

None of them knew.

But it was only a matter of _time_ , really.

And that _time_ comes later, when Hux is hyperventilating over a bottle of scotch, shattered across the floor of his cabin; he has to grip the sleek black wall to keep from sinking to his knees in glass as the violence of his transgression slams full-force into his gut, sending him doubling over as the acrid salt of bitter tears bites at his eyes.

Diamonds over amber, they fall. _Stars_ , what would his _father_ say? 

_Nothing_ , probably.

The scars he left speak enough, Hux thinks as he presses a trembling hand to his mouth, as his lungs tighten and his rotting stomach shoves up into the space they’ve left vacant,

And it was _only_ a matter of time, he _knows_ that, _has_ known it,

Because Kylo Ren is no mere Knight,

So it was always just a matter of _time_ before the fucking heir of the Skywalker name caught him in the tangled web he’d woven,

( _A_ _nd it’s funny, isn’t it?_

_That he -_

_No. Dangerous. That’s a dangerous thought. Dangerous._ )

But he’s been waiting for this,

Counting down the ways he could _break_ before the last wall of defense finally gave way to the remnants of the mind that was always too quick to deserve a normal life,

So when the door of his cabin hisses open to reveal the stupidly overlarge frame of the most infamous Knight of fucking Ren, Hux can’t even muster up anything more than a vicious, dung-smelling sneer, even as a desperate, _disgustingly_ human _fear_ begins to unfurl across the surface of his greying bones.

“I could hear your distress across the damn planet.”

Ren's voice is unfettered by his ridiculous fucking helmet. It’s deep, _burring_ ; Hux wonders what it might’ve sounded like if it never lost the light. If it might be warm.

“Fuck off, Ren.”

“You’re bleeding. You're slipping, _Admiral_." 

It’s calm. Too calm. It’s the kind of calm that comes in the middle of an astro-storm, where everything is silent, so silent. Ren steps carefully into the room, waves a hand to command the door hiss shut behind him, and Hux _wishes_ -

_Stars_ , he wishes he’d had more of the whiskey before he let it fall. He's entirely too sober for this, even if he'd managed to guzzle half the damn bottle.

“If you don’t get _out_ of my quarters, Ren -”

A scent of spice and ozone hits Hux. He can’t imagine _Kylo fucking Ren_ putting on something as _arbitrary_ and _civilized_ as cologne - it’s a different kind of spice that Ren radiates, the kind of spice that reminds Hux of the way fire looks, the way smoke feels when you breathe it too deep,

And he _does,_ breathes it _far_ too deep as he pushes against the wall, as he tries to right himself, boots crunching glass back to sand - but he barely gets even halfway upright again before a pressure starts to gather, gather, _gather_ around the base of his throat,

And it's by sheer force of will that Hux barely manages to keep himself from scrabbling futilely at the force pushing against him, the invisible fist that shuts around his neck and pushes, pushes, _pushes_ , until he's hitting the wall, cornered like a wounded cat,

“Ren - let _go_ , let go of me this fucking _instant_ , i’ll have you fucking _airlocked_ for this -”

“No, you won’t,” and Ren says it around a smile that doesn’t cross his lips as he moves closer, _closer_ ,

And it was only a matter of _time_ ,

He _knows_ that,

And when the force takes hold, Hux finds his burgeoning fear swallowed up by a storm of rage and defiance - by something _far_ braver than he thinks a man like him has any right to be; the pressure increases steadily, pressing full-bodied into him until Hux’s back is plastered to the wall and his chin forced up so he has to meet -

Those _eyes_.

He’d prefer the damn helmet.

The only part of Ren that holds _any_ kind of warmth are his damn _eyes_. Amber-ringed hazel - Hux wonders if he got them from his scoundrel father or his regal-born mother. He wonders what they’d look like if they weren’t so fucking _dead_ ,

And that’s the _thing_ , isn’t it?

They’re _both_ dead men walking, _aren’t they?_

And maybe that’s why he can’t taste the _fear_ anymore,

Because they’re both walking around with a noose about their necks,

With a blade at their spine,

With Snoke’s poison in their blood,

And Hux _wishes_ he had the damn fucking _helmet_ on as _Kylo fucking Ren_ looms over him, his dead eyes flickering over his face as he pins Hux to the wall of his cabin over a broken bottle of a whiskey he didn’t get enough of before the weight of his self-signed death sentence slammed full-force into him.

Ren smells like ozone and spice. Kylo feels the way smoke does when it’s breathed in too deep.

_How is he?_

_Do you want to know the answer to that?_

_You know damn well I do, Armitage._

_Cold. He’s fucking cold, Organa. Does that satisfy you?_

Except for his eyes, Organa. Where did he get his eyes from?

“I could feel...” And Ren _always_ talks like this, like he’s unraveling a fucking riddle only he knows; “ _regret_. You feel _loudly_ , hux. Color me shocked.”

And it was only a matter of time, but;

_“Projecting_ now, are we?” Hux spits back, “keep your fucking fingers out of my mind, Ren, or so _help_ me -”

“You regret what you _did_.”

The anger is building in Ren. Hux can feel it like an oncoming dust storm. The smoke thickens at the back of his throat as Kylo steps closer, _closer_ , until Hux can feel the _heat_ that radiates through his leather armor, and - 

_Cold. He’s fucking cold._

It feels like fire.

( _Everything is red_ ,)

“I didn’t even have to _reach_ ,” Ren says, deep voice going frayed at the edges as his nose begins to curl, “you’re _bleeding_ weakness, Hux. Regret. Fear. Sorrow. You _mourn_ them.”

Denial. Denial. Ren is warm. His eyes are dead. 

They both are.

“The only thing I’m mourning is my fucking _peace and quiet,_ my goddamn _whiskey_ -”

“Snoke has suspected a leak in the ranks for some time.”

“Ren, let me _go_ , or I can promise you this will get _very_ ugly, _very_ quickly."

It won't. There's no one on the damn planet stronger than Ren. 

“How did he not see it?” Ren muses aloud then as the pressure around Hux’s throat constricts until he _chokes_ , chin lifting in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of relief, “how did he not see right fucking through you?”

“ _Ren_ -”

“It was _you_ ,” and now he sounds like he’s about to spit out _acid_ , and now he’s so close that Hux can feel his heat, and now the smoke is suffocating him as Hux dares to fist a hand in the front of Kylo’s leather shirt as an invisible band of iron closes around his other wrist and pins it to the wall, “it was _you_. Admiral _fucking_ Hux, a _mole_ for the _Resistance,”_

_How is he?_

Hux shoves any thoughts of Organa back, but it’s too late. Her voice echoes through his skull again, _loudly_ this time, and _Ren_ \- 

Those amber-ringed eyes go _wide_ ,

And Hux thinks the Sith might be about to grow _fangs_ ,

As he _snarls_ , feral and _unhinged_ , wild and _raw_ , broken and _battered_ ,

And then there’s a real hand on Hux’s throat, and it’s - _fuck_ , it’s stronger than the Force had been, and he can’t fucking breathe, because Kylo’s smoke is filling his lungs and his hand binds his throat and Hux has signed his own death warrant as the fallen Republic buried him in ash and he hears himself say;

_Cold,_

_He’s fucking cold,_

So,

“ _D_ _o it_ ,” and Hux’s own voice rips through his memory of it, but now it's defiant and it's furious as he strains against Ren’s hand, ungloved and hot as a brand around his throat, “do - it! drag me to Snoke, Ren, or do the fucking job yourself, I don’t have - the time to be the mouse in your - fucking _game_ , so just fucking _do it!”_

_Because we’re dead men walking, you and I,_ he thinks, and Kylo’s eyes are wide and his lupine face is _warped_ with the mirror image of the rage that rips through Hux, a _rage_ that’s -

_Red_.

It’s always fucking _red_ , isn’t it?

And it was only a matter of time,

So Hux spits, " _do it_ ," as he meets those eyes, as he reconciles that the last thing he'll see in this life is the face of a man that might've been the hero the Resistance prayed for, had the cards not been stacked against him, and -

Kylo’s hand tightens. Hux feels his legs spasm, feels his lungs compress until they’re sticking together, until he’s certain they’ll never fill again; he thinks of the red of his mother’s hair, thinks of the green hills of his home, thinks of the way the ocean had sounded when it crashed into the shore,

He thinks of the red of the sky as the Republic turned to ash, as it fell across his shoulders,

Thinks of going home again,

Of freedom,

Of being a better man than he thinks he could’ve ever been, because the cards were stacked against Ren, but they were neatly arranged and set in stone steps for one Armitage Hux before he even came screaming into the world by a father that only ever wanted -

_A soldier never dies with their eyes shut,_

And his father’s voice is a firebrand in his memory, still. Why can he only recall his father's voice? Hux doesn’t remember his mother’s voice, not even a whisper of it. Just his father’s.

But even then, he _listens_ to it. 

He listens to his fucking _villain_ of a father, who would've bred an army had he virility enough, and opens his burning eyes,

And he wishes Ren were in the helmet, for this,

Because he meets those amber-ringed eyes,

Hears;

_It wasn’t meant to be like this,_

And Hux can’t remember his mother’s voice but he hears Organa’s clear as day, because he’s been degrees closer to Organa than her son has since he was little, which Hux shouldn't know but does,

And _then_ -

Stars.

He must be human after all, Hux thinks, because Kylo Ren cries in shards of glass to match the whiskey bottle on the floor. Whiskey eyes, glass tears.

Hux hates him. 

He wonders if _either_ of them ever had a fucking chance.

He _hates_ him.

_Cold._

_He’s fucking cold._

And that’s what hits Hux, when Kylo Ren lets him _go_ , when he staggers back from where he looms over Hux, both of them standing on the shards of the whiskey bottle that matches the Knight’s eyes, 

And what _hits_ Hux is a frigid, life-giving _cold_ as he slumps back to the wall and drags in _burning_ , heaving gasps of cool air, as he clutches at his throat and hacks like he’s trying to forget the way the _smoke_ of Kylo Ren felt at the back of his tongue; faintly, he hears the door hiss open through the ringing in his ears. Hears it slam shut.

He's alive.

Isn't he?

_It wasn’t meant to be like this._

Hux lifts a shaking hand.

Shards of whiskey-soaked glass pierce his palm.

It’s all red.

It’s _always_ fucking _red_.

**Author's Note:**

> songs:  
> the hills - the weeknd


End file.
